


Our Hearts Treated Tenderly

by parttimehuman



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28408140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parttimehuman/pseuds/parttimehuman
Summary: After a long day at the end of a long week, Damen comes home to Laurent's things packed in boxes and assumes the worst. Is he wrong?
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 100
Collections: Captive Prince Secret Santa 2020





	Our Hearts Treated Tenderly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuckedupflowerboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckedupflowerboy/gifts).



> This was created for and prompted by fuckedupflowerboy, who wanted to see some hurt/comfort and Damen bottoming. Now, I'm not very good at the hurting part, but I tried to make up for it with some smut. I hope you enjoy. Happy holidays and a great new year for you! 🎁🎊✨

He should have listened to Nikandros.

_ ‘I’m just looking out for you, Damen,’  _ Nikandros had said.  _ ‘He’s not like you, Damen. One day, he’ll break your heart, and you won’t even see it coming.’ _

Damen did not see it coming. He wished his best friend had a higher opinion of the man he’d lost his heart to, but not for a single second did Nikandros’ distrust stop him from going after what he wanted: Laurent. 

You couldn’t blame Nikandros, who knew his best friend’s weaknesses all too well, but you couldn’t blame Damen either. Light blond hair and fair skin had attracted Damen from the very beginning, but he could have still walked away then. Later, once he knew the man beneath the pretty looks, he was helpless. Damen would have moved mountains for Laurent’s true smile. He would have given him the sun, the moon and all the stars. Of course, the breaking of Damen’s own heart was included in the list of sacrifices he was willing to make. 

Neither this willingness nor any of Nikandros’ warnings mean that he was prepared. 

When he comes home after a long day at the end of a long week, tired and craving Laurent’s gentle touch, just to find boxes filled with Laurent’s clothes in front of the door to the home they’ve built, it hits him like a brick in the face and a second brick right in the heart. He drops his bags, opens one of the boxes, pulls out what Laurent neatly folded; clothes he remembers Laurent wearing before they became an item, at their first date, to dinner with Laurent’s older brother Auguste. Clothes he took off Laurent’s body slowly, piece by piece, in an act probably best described as worship. Clothes he picked up from the floor the morning after, tip-toeing around the room as to not wake a sleeping Laurent, pressing his nose into the fabric and inhaling the remaining traces of Laurent’s scent before he put them in the washing machine. 

Memories over memories escape the boxes as he pulls one piece of clothing after the other out of them, each one tearing at his heart a little more harshly, and yet he can’t stop digging. By the time the boxes are empty and the chaos in front of the door perfect, Damen can barely breathe. Through tears, he stares at the lock that he’s given Laurent the key to the previous Christmas. He finds himself afraid to unlock it now. What if Laurent is no longer inside? What if the shelves are half empty, or the pictures of the two of them smiling next to each other taken down? 

What if it was too much? All those hours he’s been spending at work instead of going home at a reasonable time to have dinner with his boyfriend. All those mornings when he left the bed while it was still dark and ate breakfast alone because he thought he couldn’t afford to be tempted by sweet kisses and to end up staying in bed for half of the day. All the messages he answered with too few words, the calls he missed altogether. All the December days Laurent spent decorating, baking and gift shopping without Damen. All the declarations of Damen’s love that Laurent should have been hearing, but wasn’t. 

He’s ruined it. Against all odds, Laurent started to like him back over time, allowed Damen to earn his trust, lowered his guard one tiny bit at a time, and offered his heart. Damen swore he would treat it tenderly. What if he’s been doing the exact opposite without even noticing? 

“What the  _ hell _ are you doing out here?” 

Damen was too busy going through the long list of his personal failings over the past weeks to hear the apartment door opening. Now Laurent is standing there, towering over him, holding another box of memories he no longer intends to share. His bright blond hair has turned curly in the nape of his neck and around his face. He looks beautiful as ever, but there’s something on his face that’s the opposite of the happy and carefree smile Damen adores so much. 

Damen doesn’t know how to respond. What  _ is _ he doing? Kneeling on the floor in between piles of Laurent’s things, trying not to cry and failing, desperately thinking about what might be the right thing to say to Laurent that might get him one last chance. 

“You packed your things,” he whispers instead. Not magic words, not promises to try harder and do better in the future. A simple observation, given a very thin, shaky sounding voice. 

There’s absolute silence. Until the box Laurent has been holding drops to the floor with a thud. 

“No,” Laurent says. He, too, sounds strange and unlike himself. 

“Yes,” Damen says, shaking his head. The evidence is right there. “I’ve been a shit boyfriend and so you packed your things. It doesn’t even matter how much I love you, because I haven’t made you  _ feel _ loved and I-”

“Stop.” One word, one sighing exhale, one large step through chaos, and then Laurent’s hands are in Damen’s hair and on his shoulder. “Stop talking, you silly man.” A moment later, Laurent is on his knees as well, right in front of Damen, forcing him to look up from his own trembling hands and into blue eyes. “Stop thinking, Damen. You’re wrong. I don’t know how you got the idea that I would leave you just because you haven’t been able to direct all of your attention only at me, but you’re wrong, okay? This is just old stuff that I’m giving away. They’re just clothes. But me? I’m not going anywhere.” 

Damen hates that there’s a part of him thinking that this might just be Laurent lying to him to avoid conflict. That he was planning on being gone before Damen would return home. That instead of today, he’ll leave tomorrow, and Damen will be clueless. 

“Do you hear me?” Laurent interrupts his fearful thinking. “I’m right here.” With those words, he wraps his arms around Damen and shuffles closer until he’s practically in Damen’s lap, hugging him tight. With Laurent’s face pressed against his neck, Damen realizes that it has the same wet traces of tears as his own, and that Laurent is just as afraid of losing what they have built. 

Laurent’s arms are tight around him, palms rubbing circles in his back. Relief washes over him like a wave that takes all the bad thoughts with it and carries them far away. Damen closes his arms around Laurent’s waist and pulls him closer. In their hasty attempt to be as close as physically possible, they both fall over, but at least they land on top of a bunch of clothes, and instead of getting up, Laurent simply wraps himself around Damen and stays there until it truly becomes too uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry for assuming the worst,” Damen mutters as they slowly disentangle their limbs. 

“Something isn’t going the way you want it to at work, is it?” Laurent asks. Of course. Sometimes it feels like he knows Damen better than he knows himself. 

Damen shakes his head. “We’re stuck on this one stupid deal with a crucial business partner and now the entire work of the past months might have been for nothing. For nothing, but expensive. And I’m the one responsible, so I can pretty much kiss that promotion goodbye if we don’t turn this thing around somehow.”

“I’m not going to pretend like I know how you feel,” Laurent says softly, taking the shirt Damen just picked up from the floor from his hand and holding the hand instead. “But I know you won’t give up before you can say that you’ve given your best. And I know that you have a very unique way of charming people who didn’t have any intention to like you.” 

Although the tears are still drying on his cheeks, Damen has to smile at that. “Worked with you.” 

Laurent nods, smiling now as well. “Worked with me. Now, do you want to see something or do you want to stay out here all evening?” 

“What about the mess I made?” 

Laurent shrugs. “Can wait.” It’s only then that Damen realizes Laurent is wearing one of Damen’s t-shirts like a dress. It’s what Laurent does instead of saying ‘I’ve missed you’. What Damen does instead of saying ‘I’ve missed you too’ is grabbing Laurent from behind as he opens the door, tucking a stray curl behind his ear and kissing the back of his neck. 

Damen wouldn’t admit to Laurent how much it calms him to see the inside of their home looking the opposite from the worst case scenario his brain conjured up not so long ago. He hates that his eyes scan the place for signs like Laurent’s toothbrush still in its place beside Damen’s, like the first picture of them together as a couple in its place on the nightstand. 

Without thinking, Damen reaches for the top drawer of the dresser in their bedroom, a dresser filled with socks and underwear. Both of theirs, ideally. He shakes his head and pulls his hand away before he can open it. He’s not going to check. He doesn’t need to. 

The closet might be considerably emptier than before, but Laurent put the extra pillow Damen likes to have on Damen’s side of the bed after making it. There’s a small Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, not yet decorated, but the boxes containing ornaments and tinsel placed right next to it prove Laurent’s intention to do so. 

“I thought we could do it together,” Laurent says, watching Damen look around. The rest of the apartment has received a soft, warm golden glow. There are twigs of evergreens and dried slices of orange, red candles and golden lights. Two small reindeer carved of wood adorn the coffee table. Damen wonders how he can have missed any and all feeling of Christmas coming closer this year. It’s so much to take in that it takes him forever to realize the smell coming from the little kitchen and wafting through the apartment. 

“You’re baking apples,” he says, looking at Laurent. Did he ever tell Laurent how much he loved baked apples as a child? Did he ever mention that his mother made them with fresh orange juice and marzipan and that they tasted like heaven? 

“I may have had a little Christmas elf send me a special recipe from Ios.” Laurent shrugs like it’s nothing, but it’s more than Damen can thank him for with words.

“I don’t know how I got this lucky,” Damen tells him. What exactly was he worried about earlier? 

He’s asked himself the question many times before, and he still has no answer, but it’s obvious that Laurent is trying his best to spoil him, whatever it is he might have done to deserve it. The baked apples taste fantastic, Laurent serves them with vanilla ice cream and bans Damen from the kitchen when he tries to at least be of  _ some _ assistance. There’s hot punch as well as the quiet sound of Christmas carols from Damen’s home. 

Apart from not being allowed to help with the food or the dishes, Damen isn’t allowed to undress himself in the bathroom either, or wash his own hair as he sits in the tub soaking in hot and wonderfully scented water, bubbles covering his chest and shoulders. For some reason, it’s not acceptable for him to dry himself off with a towel, or walk from the bathroom to the bedroom without his hand being held. 

“Lie down,” Laurents tells him, and then guides Damen to the middle of their bed and onto his stomach, with a pillow to put the side of his face on and Laurent settling on his butt while uncapping a little bottle of oil. 

Ever since he was a teenager, Damen’s back has caused him pain, which he’s been told is quite a common side effect of being tall. He’s been skipping the physical therapy sessions that are supposed to prevent a spinal disk herniation and he’s been skipping the professional massages that are supposed to at least ease some of the pain, but he’s also been skipping the hours spent agonizing over his back because there were too many hours reserved for stressing over work, and the days were simply over after twenty-four hours had passed.

With Laurent’s hands rubbing oil into his skin, Damen realizes how tense he is even after a bath so long and hot that it has made his fingers pruney. He can’t remember the last time he’s allowed himself to relax. He didn’t think he would be able to squeeze it into the schedule so soon before Christmas, but it looks like Laurent has taken care of it for him. 

Damen wants to point out that it’s not necessary, and Laurent isn’t responsible for taking care of his back anyway, and he’s already been far too good to Damen, but somehow no words of protest make it past his lips as Laurent kneads him. Instead, Damen closes his eyes and decides to simply enjoy it - enjoy being touched by Laurent, whose hands have always felt special on him, always so deliberately tender. It’s nice to be reminded of it, of what Laurent’s weight on top of him feels like and the warmth that builds when skin touches skin. 

Sometime later, Damen will apologize for the time he’s been spending away. For letting himself forget what it’s like to have Laurent so intimately close. For now, he simply melts away under Laurent’s ministrations, feeling boneless and soft until Laurent’s hands are done with his shoulders and back, moving instead further south. 

“Don’t worry,” Laurent assures him, “I won’t do anything.” He does spread Damen’s legs apart so he can sit in between them, but there’s nothing remotely demanding or sexual about the way his fingers move over the curves that Damen’s lower body consists of. More oil is being rubbed into skin. Ankles, calves, thighs, buttcheeks - not an inch forgotten or left out. 

“I know you’re being a gentleman here,” Damen says, his voice low now, a little husky, even. “But you don’t have to.” 

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you,” Laurent says, “I don’t care how long it’s been.” His words are sweet, but his hands are not innocent, gliding up Damen’s thighs.

“I know that,” Damen replies, because he does, “but I like it way too much when you touch me.”

“When I touch you?” Laurent asks, leaning forward, his lips now so close to Damen’s ear that his breath tickles it as he speaks. “Or when I touch you like  _ this?” _ With both hands, he grips Damen’s ass, fingers digging into the flesh just hard enough for it to really excite but not hurt him. It truly has been much too long since they’ve had time to themselves, Damen thinks. 

“Both,” Damen answers. It’s the truth. “At this very moment, especially like  _ this.”  _ He lifts his hips up from the sheets and sticks his ass out, hoping that Laurent takes it as the invitation that it is. 

Laurent chuckles and kisses his cheek, his jaw, the side of his neck and finally makes his way across Damen’s back slowly, one kiss at a time, some soft and some accompanied by a little bite. He stops with his warm breath coming against the absolute lowest part of Damen’s back. 

“How about when I touch you like  _ this?” _ Spreading Damen’s cheeks apart, he lets one single finger trail down the crack, not lingering for even a second as it grazes the hole. Of course, Laurent knows the answer to his question already. Damen doesn’t like it, he  _ loves _ it, but it’s by far not enough. 

“You mean when you  _ tease  _ me like that,” Damen points out. Before Laurent, he was used to getting what he wanted, to simply taking it - with consent, of course. Nobody had ever made him wait for it, work for it, beg for it. Laurent likes to take things slow, to build up tension until it feels like Damen is bursting. 

“And when I touch you like  _ this?” _ Laurent wants to know. At first, Damen wants to complain because there’s no new touch at all, but then Laurent follows the path of his finger once more, except with the tip of his tongue. 

“Fuck,” Damen groans, “do that again.” 

This, other than taking things slow, was a lesson brought to Laurent by Damen. Using his mouth to give pleasure wasn’t something Laurent thought he was interested in. Damen didn’t mind doing it with no reciprocation, but soon enough Laurent asked Damen if he liked giving pleasure that way and why. A few days later, he was instructed to hold still and keep his hands to himself as Laurent dropped to his knees in front of him. 

After quite some practice, Laurent now knows exactly how to drive Damen crazy with want. It’s the way he always pulls back when it gets really good, how he always forces Damen to calm down a little before he picks up where he left off. How he takes his tongue away from where Damen wants it and digs his teeth into the flesh right and left instead. He could push Damen higher steadily, slowly and gently towards the edge, but he chooses to pull him back, to let him wait just to push twice as hard a second later so Damen never knows how long he has to go until the climax. 

It doesn’t take very long until Damen is gripping the sheet beneath him so hard that his knuckles go white and grinding against the mattress for some much needed friction. He tries to turn around, but Laurent doesn’t let him, pinning him down and throwing his entire body on top of Damen. 

“Let me do the work, yeah?” Laurent breathes against his cheek. “You simply relax.” They kiss, Damen craning his neck so he can get more of Laurent’s tongue in his mouth, but Laurent pulls away and earns a whiny protest that is over pretty quickly once Laurent returns on top of Damen with some lube and an apparent determination to fully ruin him. 

Lying still seems impossibly hard with Laurent’s fingers slowly coaxing him open. If it wasn’t Laurent with him, he’d be embarrassed by how quickly he gets close to coming. But it is Laurent and he doesn’t bother to hold back. If he’s horny enough to fuck himself on two of Laurent’s fingers while rubbing his leaking dick all over the sheets, then so be it. Hold still and relax? He’s beyond that. 

If it hadn’t been so long since the last time, he would be begging for Laurent to fuck him, but Damen can’t stop his moaning to say the words, and he doesn’t want Laurent to pull out now, not even if he’s going to replace his fingers with his cock. They can do all of that later tonight. Laurent knows just as well that Damen doesn’t want him to tease right now. There are no games, no interruptions, no stopping just when he’s about to come. 

There is only Laurent straddling him, one hand dug into his left asscheek, the other one fucking him relentlessly until he goes rigid, then some more and through his orgasm, pushing more and more release out of him. 

“I think I really needed that,” Damen says breathlessly once he’s regained the ability to form words instead of just noise. Then he’s finally allowed to turn around and pulls Laurent down on top of him, kissing him, because he really needs that, too. 

They kiss, and touch, and kiss again. They cuddle, listen to each other’s heart beating, snooze off, wake in each other’s arms in the middle of the night. They kiss, and they make love, and then they stop because they’re both laughing too hard, and then they keep going because they don’t seriously want to stop. They tell joked and lie in bed crosswise and forget the time. 

“Hey babe,” Laurent whispers, lips against Damen’s temple. 

“Mhmm?” Comes the sleepy reply. 

“I know you’ve been stressed and anxious because of work, and that’s fair. I know the stakes are high and you really want this promotion and you’ll feel like you’re losing if it doesn’t work out. But I’m not a job, okay? I’m not going to go away if you can’t make me your number one priority at all times. I know you have stuff to do. And if I had a problem with that, or with you, I promise you, I would come to you and tell you instead of just leaving.”

“I don’t know why I thought you would, honestly,” Damen says. He really, really doesn’t. “Please don’t tell Nik about it.” 

“Never,” Laurent promises, and kisses Damen’s forehead. 


End file.
